Star Wars in the Twenty-First Century

Last week, I finally got around to seeing The Last Jedi.

I’ll admit, I had some trepidation. I’d seen the Rotten Tomatoes debacle, heard about fan reactions. Low expectations were a part of why I took so long to see the film. The spoiler-free reviews I read seemed pretty promising, but that was almost even more discouraging. Was The Last Jedi just going to be another example of why critical opinions need to be taken with a grain of salt?

As it turned out, The Last Jedi reminded me why I tend to take fan reactions with a grain of salt.

To avoid spoilers, it’s only the last week I’m letting myself read commentary and the fan reactions. But after watching the movie and reading the articles that have slowly accumulated in a folder on my desktop, it seems the main justification for the vitriol is that the movie “absolutely ruins 30 years of cinema lore.”

While there is a kernel of truth in this statement, I have to admit, I find this thinking somewhat reductive.

In responding to that particular Tweet and the countless fans who agree with its sentiment, I’ll start by acknowledging that, yes, The Last Jedi disappointed me. It was a disappointment for the little boy who’s still somewhere in there, that continues to drive my fandom. In many ways, The Last Jedi spit in the face of the little boy who watched the originals as long ago as he can remember before getting his own generation of Star Wars.

This newest movie disappointed the part of me that drives my belief that Return of the Jedi is the best of the series. In many ways, The Last Jedi is the sequel to Episode VI we never saw with The Force Awakens.  Like all good sequels, The Last Jedi addresses the legacy of its predecessor. Luke’s bleak monologues cut to the romantic heart of Return of the Jedi’s neat fantasy ending: the comradery, the optimism, the mythologizing. The kid inside who continues to idolize Luke’s hero’s journey felt pretty hurt and even offended by the writers’ cynical manipulation of the mythology.

I get why people dislike this movie.

But I’m no longer just that kid. I’m also an adult who attempts to engage at least somewhat critically with the cultural artifacts I am exposed to.

My adult reaction to any offense taken after seeing The Last Jedi is basically this… the existence of a third Star Wars trilogy in a universe where George Lucas sold his baby to Disney is fucking offensive.

Most of the problems with both The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi can be directly tied to the fact that the series should not even exist. Any manipulation of fan-favoured franchise lore isn’t the fault of a single writer or his film. His directing is not the reason Luke seems like an entirely different character in this movie. It would have been inevitable. Luke’s story ended with Return of the Jedi.

Any problems arising with his character can be traced back to the increasing commodification of franchises like Star Wars by entertainment giants (remember, Disney also owns Marvel Entertainment). Rian Johnson seems to understand this, and I wonder if this knowledge played a part in his choice to characterize Luke this way. Is it, perhaps, a statement? At the very least, he’s given an alternative to the predictably Yoda imitator we might have ended up with under a different director.

Whatever people say about the prequel trilogy fit, it directly into the creative vision Lucas created. The first follow up trilogy enhanced the franchises core themes and deepened the universe (providing space to revive a dying expanded universe) while mostly acknowledging the original trilogy as its foundation piece. This new trilogy was unplanned, clearly a product of corporate machinations. Our Twitter friend succinctly summarizes what many of us have been thinking since 2012: “cash cow only and goodbye to all that made #StarWars great.”

I’m almost tempted to say the world did end in 2012, because the world where Star Wars fandom is untainted by the postmodern malaise is no more. Hence, I return to my reaction The Last Jedi: I loved it. It’s up there with the best of the canon, precisely because it understands the place Star Wars is at in the 21^st century.

One of Star Wars’ many values is its reflection of the culture that produces it. The original trilogy reflected Reagan-era anti-communist rhetoric, centered on a hero’s journey to join the collective fight against the evil Empire. Concerned with diversifying the series mythology, the prequel trilogy is perennially well suited for the post-9/11 world, dissecting empires, republics, and religions. In the prequel trilogy, we witness an outdated order being torn down in a manner that seems both reflective and eerily prophetic. The prequel trilogy remains relevant when we look back from sixteen plus years into the War in Afghanistan.

Rian Johnson asks hard questions that have always existed in the Star Wars franchise but have never been tackled in the film’s main line. He exposes some of the problematic thinking promoted by the original Star Wars series, and the way that dogged faith in organizations and religions can exacerbate these problems. Despite Return of the Jedi’s optimistic ending, I’ve always wondered if the Jedi need to return. It was, after all, (as Luke notes at one point in the new film) the overconfident and bureaucratic Jedi order that allowed Darth Sidious to organize the Empire and order the Jedi’s destruction.

Perhaps, The Last Jedi asks, it is time to stop looking for the past for answers. This, of course, brings the film into conversation with contemporary political debates.

The Republic and the Empire both function as analogies for the American state. Though fans debate over how those analogies map onto the real world, look around the world today. Does any other political entity represent the First Order better than the United Sates and the late capitalist west more generally? Specifically, who better represents the First Order’s incompetent and extremist leadership than those politicians currently sitting in the White House?  

It’s no longer enough to joke about “the only other woman in the galaxy” as some form of empty lip service. It’s time to actively dismantle and deconstruct the institutions that reproduce social ills. On the fandom level, that means criticizing franchises like Star Wars and others when they fail to promote socially diverse narratives. It means questioning elements of fandom that are unwilling to compromise their views about the social ramifications that fiction has.

In terms of the franchise’s creative direction, it means little humanization for the villains and even less romanticism in dealing with them. The Last Jedi excellently deconstructs the naiveté of believing in the good inside. In real life, the good guy doesn’t turn, the eleventh hour plan fails, and a petulant man child is in charge of the most dangerous and powerful military in the galaxy. In real life, a villain’s backstory is second to the threat he poses threat. In the real world, actions define a person.

The Last Jedi is the first truly adult Star Wars film not just because it strays heavily into PG territory but because it is aware of itself and the franchise as a set of cultural artifacts with social ramifications. While the child in me will always love the original trilogy the best, The Last Jedi seems to point towards a future where nine films form a unified progressive update to the six-episode saga my heart still considers the core of Star Wars.

Mishandled, though, J.J. Abrams and Episode IX’s creative team risk dismissing some of the thematic depths reached in The Last Jedi. Though The Last Jedi is certainly one of Star Wars’ best moments, this seems largely due to Rian Johnson’s update to George Lucas’s creative vision. Two years on from The Force Awakens, I’m still unsure how I feel about this new trilogy.

Black Mirror’s “USS Callister:” Understand but Do Not Defend Toxic Nerd Culture

SPOILER ALERT. Don’t read on if you haven’t yet watched “USS Callister” from season four of Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror.

Since the series released at the end of December, there has been a lot of talk about “USS Callister,” an exceptionally well promoted episode that was far from the Star Trek parody we all expected. Highly in tune with the show’s best moments, Black Mirror’s most cinematic episode to date is a chilling critique of systemic issues in science fiction fandom and nerd culture at large.

To quickly recap, the plot goes like this: after her first day working for the developers of the online virtual reality videogame Infinity Nannette Cole wakes up in outer space aboard the USS Callister, a ship reminiscent the original USS Enterprise. The crew of the Callister, her coworkers at the Callister Inc. tech company, inform her that she is a digital copy of Nannette created by her boss Robert Daly, and that both the Callister and its crew are trapped in an offline development version of Infinity where Captain Daly rules as a god in a make-believe world.

The episode’s themes are hinted at from the beginning as Nannette explains how she left her previous workplace after being the victim of bullying. Her new workplace is apparently little different, filled with disrespectful interns and gossiping coworkers. Though Daly’s psychopathy is quickly revealed, he is introduced as a shy loner who is clearly mistreated by these people. It is implied that Daly, like Nannette, has long been the victim of bullying. For ten minutes, he is one of Black Mirror’s most relatable characters. The audience understands that, at one point, Daly was perhaps little different from the countless young men who find a much needed (and harmless) escape offered by fandom.

It’s here that some concerns about the episode have arisen. A lot of viewers take issue with the episode arguing that science fiction fans shook the Daly stereotype years ago. This is true. In the age of Elon Musk, The Big Bang Theory, and a third Star Wars trilogy, it’s acceptable and sometimes even cool to be a nerd. But I after watching this episode, I can’t help thinking of the acquaintances who regularly attend Calgary’s Comic Expo every year yet view themselves as somehow different from the cosplayers. Passionate nerds continue to be othered.

Straight out of a little boy's imagination

This increase in mainstream superficial interest in nerd culture has, I think, played a huge role in why the fandoms I love are becoming increasingly taken over by an internet-filtered toxic ethos. For decades, nerd culture has centered on a degree of enforced but proud difference from a superficial mainstream society. The fact that this difference is currently being commodified on every level (Disney’s Marvel Cinematic Universe is a great example of this) is a strong force in the maintenance of toxic nerd culture.

Viewers who insist that Trekkies long ago shook the Daly stereotype misunderstand Brooker’s characterization of Daly as a literally different person inside the game. The sadistic and cruel Captain Daly has escaped so far removed from our reality that he has forgotten the philosophical motivations of the Space Fleet he loves. Meanwhile, programmer Robert Daly is a soft spoken individual who displays a clear sensitivity to the world around him. He seems to maintain the earnest passion we nerds identify with, and he is clearly a person who has long suffered as a social pariah. It is implied that, in the real world, Nannette’s desperate pleas for kindness might have been heard by Robert Daly, if her voice had not been filtered through the ears of Captain Daly.

At the episode’s beginning, Robert Daly was the character with whom I have identified most in four seasons of Black Mirror; he then he became the singular most disgusting villain in the show’s history. This is no accident. In a show where each episode’s core theme can be summed up in a sentence, the juxtaposition of the two aspects of Daly’s character is where this episode’s central concern lies.

Robert Daly

One wonders what sort of a person Robert Daley might have become if he had a strong social group to ground him in reality. Watching this episode, I found myself wondering who Robert Daly might be if he spent his time around a Dungeons and Dragons table rather than an online community populated by the likes of Gamer691. I assume that the reason Aaron Paul’s character picked this tag is that Gamer69 was taken. How might this world have changed a more innocent version of Daly?

The point Brooker is trying to make is that while many are born with the potential for evil actions, few are destined for them. Without a secure anchor to reality, these behaviours can and will escalate. This is especially true in an online space where the loudest voices are generally bullies living out their own fantasies of power.

In the end, Captain Daly has become so isolated from his redeemable characteristics that it is simply unrealistic to suggest he represents any kind of fandom stereotype. The sympathetic and understandable character we were introduced to at the episode’s outset has been replaced entirely by a sociopathic sex predator. Here, Brooker’s message is pretty clear: a monster is a monster is a monster, regardless of circumstance.

At the end of the day, “USS Callister” is an attempt to understand toxic behaviour without in any way condoning it. The episode sends nerd culture a prescient message: while escapism is important, it cannot to happen in isolation from its real world consequences.

But a criticism of toxic nerd culture is too simple a takeaway for Black Mirror. As always, Brooker wants us to look at ourselves and understand that, while horrific actions cannot be excused, a little kindness and human connection goes a long way to preventing them from happening.

Ten Years Later

Today is September 1st, 2017. It's nineteen years later, and Albus Potter boarded the Hogwarts express this morning, ten years after we all turned the final page.

It's silly, really, to care so much about an arbitrary date in an imaginary universe. It is only a story, of course.

But maybe not. After all: fiction is hardly the same as not real.

Harry's story meant a lot to me as I grew up. In many ways, it defined large parts of who I am today. The books, after all, matured alongside me. As so many have noted, Harry and his friends grew up in tandem with their audience. Harry's trials were my trials. Not the werewolves and the Dementors, but the crushes and the insecurities. The loneliness, the fear of a confusing world. These I could relate to. Harry's story was my Hogwarts, a place I could always retreat to and feel welcome.

Harry's adventures were my escape and my inspiration, an example of what the fantasy genre does at its best. Not only did the books inspire a lifelong love of reading stories, they helped me define how I came to understand my world. By holding a mirror up to our world, the story showed me the insidious malaises of celebrity worship, mob mentality, and economic, racial, and gender inequality.

Harry helped make me empathetic for the world. In the Luna Lovegood I saw my quirky school peers, and wondered who might need a hand in friendship; in Sirius Black, I saw the father figures in my life, and wondered if perhaps the bad guys aren't always the bad guys. After reading Chamber of Secrets, I remember wondering who the "mudbloods" of my world were, and how I could avoid being complicit in such awfully hateful attitudes. These are just a few examples, though I could easily fill a book with ways the books inspired me to an awareness of and a genuine desire to fight cruelty and injustice.

These desires did not evolve solely out of Harry Potter of course. The series was merely one of numerous forces that shaped the person I've become (a mother who predisposed me to empathy, the crippling loneliness and insecurity of the introverted, to name a few more), but I always felt a special kinship with Harry that filled a hole in my soul where nothing else could. This, perhaps, is why the books transcend the medium of mere literature in my mind. Harry Potter represents the first time I found a book and my connection to its world truly magical. Since then, I've found hundreds of worlds such as this, hundreds of characters that feel truly real to me. But Harry was the first. And the first is always special.

Of course, Harry was never my favourite character in the series. Oh no, far from it. Harry was always flawed, frustrating, and often foolish. But he always had good intentions. And don't we all succumb to our flaws sometime? You see, I am not, and never have been, the favourite character in my own story. Yet Harry gave me hope that perhaps I could still bring some good into the world. Perhaps one day I might even become the favourite character in someone else's story.

Harry's story is not for everyone, and many of those who came late to the series have not connected with the stories as I have. In this way, the series' popularity has perhaps been to its detriment. I would no longer consider myself a "potterhead" (a term I have always resisted, much as continue to resist the asinine "Whovian" label). I no longer reread with the same avid obsession. Yet I still pick up my worn hardcovers every now and then, and revisit a part of myself that will never leave me.

For those who understand I need say no more.

All is well.

September 1st, 2017

A Short Review of Spider-Man: Homecoming

A while back, I wrote a piece addressing my thoughts on Spider-Man joining the Marvel Cinematic Universe. A few months later, when Captain America: Civil War came out, I wrote a review with my updated thoughts on Tom Holland’s web slinger.

Now, after his first solo outing, I am truly convinced: Tom Holland is Peter Parker.

As I’ve said before, the choice to make this incarnation of the character so distinctly innocent, so obviously a kid, serves to give him a degree of relatability that previous incarnations have lacked. 

This Peter Parker, true to the comics, is a fifteen year old social outcast who’s stumbled into a world that’s bigger than he is. And, unlike the Greek Gods and billionaire playboys of this universe, Peter has to deal with the very real struggles of teenaged angst, high school, and dating.

Spider-Man’s ability to navigate the fantasy of superpowers as well as the monotony of daily life is the true strength of his character. This is why he holds such a special place in my heart, as I know he holds a special place in so many others.

With Spider-Man: Homecoming, I am happy to see that the role has been placed in good hands. The tone of the movie is light, paying homage to the world he came from with references to The Avengers and Civil War, with Tony Stark playing a main role. This crossover allows for a certain passing of the franchise torch, and shows a degree of forethought on the part of the writers. With the knowledge that Robert Downey Jr and Chris Evans can’t anchor the franchise forever, Spider-Man: Homecoming marks what I expect to see in the post Infinity War era MCU, with a new generation of superheroes coming to the forefront.

A lot of thought seems to have been put into how Holland’s Parker learns to use his powers. The villain he faces in Homecoming, the Vulture, is arguably relatively weak on the scale of MCU villain hood. The film’s dialogue notes that Vulture would be finished if Iron Man or the Avengers were to notice him. In fighting the Vulture, we see an immature, eager, and clumsy Spider-Man learning his limits and learning to use his powers wisely. This dynamic between Parker and the movie’s villains makes for some entertaining scenes, including one hilarious interrogation scene. On a technical level, this learning curve also allows for a certain break in the monotony of super-hero action scenes. Rather than yet another film where Iron Man fights an army of robots, we have a refreshing mixing and matching of super-powers.

Spider-Man: Homecoming is one of the best films to have been released in Marvel’s shared universe, possibly the best behind only Civil War. More down to earth and relatable than many of its counterparts, Homecoming is a perfect Spider-Man film, staying true to the character and the tone of the world. Unlike many character introductions, this film dispenses with the well-trodden origin story, instead infusing backstory references to the dialogue.

Ultimately, Spider-Man: Homecoming is well worth the time and money to see in theatres, a truly loyal and heartfelt portrayal of my favourite superhero.

9/10

13 Reasons Why: Required Viewing

About a year ago, I wrote a piece the culmination of a bout of depression. My hope was that reading it might encourage others to seek help, as I did. In publishing the piece, I was trying to reach out to other people in positions like mine. I wrote for myself, and for the people who struggle like me.

13 Reasons Why writes for the loved ones, friends, and acquaintances around us.

It seems to me that Netflix’s new binge-driven show is incredibly polarizing. There doesn’t seem to be anyone who’s on the fence about their opinion. Either you love it, or you hate it.

I’m certainly one of the former, one of the people who “gets it,” I guess.

I’m not going to get into defending the show against allegations of unnecessarily graphic rape scenes, glorified suicide, or misrepresented depression. Some of these criticisms are founded, some are plain absurd, but they aren’t what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about why I think this show is one of the most poignantly honest portrayals of depression, teenaged angst, and the cruelties we inflict on one another every day. I’m sure I’ll address some criticisms indirectly.

As I said, the show is not written primarily for those going through depression. It is written for the people around those who are struggling. One thing I was consistently struck with while watching the show is how well it conveyed one simple fact about depression: nobody – and I mean nobody – can truly understand what is going on inside of another person’s head.

Of course, the show’s central conceit revolves around Hannah’s posthumous attempts to illustrate this fact to her classmates. Through recorded tapes sent to everyone who bullied her and everyone who stood by while she was bullied, Hannah sets the record straight, explaining in agonizing detail to her classmates and to her audience how their seemingly small actions can have massive consequences.

Of course, as many have pointed out, there’s a severe degree of implausibility in the story. Would the narrative unfold this way in real life? No, probably not. But that’s not the point. 13 Reasons Why is a show about severe angst, the feeling that the entire world is against you. Such angst does not allow for reality to prevail. Such angst, by its very nature, makes our perception of the world unrealistic.

One thing 13 Reasons Why does so effectively is portray this angst for adults. I’m sure many teens who watch the show are familiar with having their struggles dismissed or ignored: “just try to focus on school;” “it doesn’t last forever;” “we all went through it.”

While these voices generally mean well, such attitudes are dangerously dismissive. For adults – specifically parents and teachers – to portray these attitudes to their kids is to devalue the struggles those kids are going through. When you are a teen, when you’re in high school, surrounded by hundreds of other insecure, confused, and struggling individuals in a microcosm of raging hormones, that angst is real for you. Sure, we can all say that we went through it. But if you find that this is your attitude, ask yourself: was there ever a point where it didn’t feel real? Was there ever a point where those struggles weren’t your entire world?

I found myself thinking a lot about my own high school experience while watching the show. When I was seventeen, I was more a Clay than a Hannah, but I empathize with both characters. Off the top of my head, I can list a dozen names, people who probably don’t even remember my name yet invariably left marks on me through their words or their actions. I hope that in watching the show people like that might come to realize that words and actions that might seem inconsequential to them almost always have consequences: if I, as someone who was innocuous and socially awkward but never bullied harshly, felt the sting of individuals’ words, how must the Hannahs of my school felt?

When I was in high school, I didn’t consider myself depressed. It is only in retrospect that I can apply that label, and understand the reasons I felt like I did.

A lot has been written about the show’s failure to qualify Hannah’s mental illness. While I understand this criticism, I feel it is misplaced. Indeed, I think the fact that Hannah is never defined as clinically depressed is part of what makes the show so effective. In the end, the term “depression” is a somewhat arbitrary and incredibly broad label. 13 Reasons Why focusses on the manifestation of that depression, and how those around us can recognize the signs.

As much as I hate to admit it, there remains a stigma around mental illness. It’s a hot phrase that is often easily dismissed. The result of this is that directly explaining Hannah’s mental illness would have been either unnecessary or alienating. As I’ve said, this is not a show primarily written for those who suffer from mental illness, but one written for those around the sufferer. The jocks of Hannah’s school would have easily dismissed her depression, just as the bullies of my high school would have.

Of course Hannah’s mental illness influenced her reaction to these things, but we already know that. Obviously Hannah was depressed, but directly labelling her as such would have made it far too easy to dismiss the actions of those around her: the bullies who objectified her, the parents who didn’t pay enough attention, or the man who raped her because he thought she “wanted it.” The show is written for the real life people like this.

13 Reasons Why is not a show primarily about the experience of mental illness, but about how we all need to be better at recognizing and understanding the effects our actions have on one another. We simply don’t know what another person is going through. In real life, nobody wears a badge or goes around proclaiming “I’m depressed.” Indeed, many teens probably don’t realize that they are depressed. 13 Reasons Why does not shirk away from the fact that there is often a thin line between clinical depression and general angst, and that drawing a sharp line between these two things should not be our purpose.

There is nothing this show shirks away from. It addresses a wide array of issues with brutal honesty, harnessing its young adult milieu to speak to teens and adults alike. 13 Reasons Why is not a show for the Hannahs of the world, but a show for the Clays and the parents of the world; it is a show for all the guidance counsellors who might dismiss their students and for all the kids who think it’s just a joke, or who think that silence means consent. For this reason, it should be required viewing.

If you think you or someone around you might be consider hurting themselves, there are resources you can reach out to. I know it isn’t easy sometimes. Trust me, I know. But please do it, if not for yourself then for those who love you. Reach out to a friend or family member, a teacher or a co-worker, or call one of these numbers.

KidsHelpPhone Ages 20 Years and Under in Canada 1-800-668-6868
First Nations and Inuit Hope for Wellness 24/7 Help Line 1-855-242-3310
Trans LifeLine – All Ages 1-877-330-6366

24 Crisis Line – 1-403-266-4357

Finally, here are a few resources for further reading:

http://www.distresscentre.com/join-our-team/volunteer-opportunities/

http://www.supportisp.org/?gclid=CjwKEAjwz9HHBRDbopLGh-afzB4SJABY52oF6hpn5qdjjpFPiKECFgdSTAtlIurxuktxigwury10ZRoCO2Xw_wcB

http://www.cmha.ca/mental-health/understanding-mental-illness/suicide/

https://www.kidshelpphone.ca/Teens/InfoBooth/Emotional-Health/Suicide/What-Happens.aspx

https://www.kidshelpphone.ca/Teens/InfoBooth/Emotional-Health/Suicide/I-Want-Out.aspx

http://suicideprevention.ca/need-help/

https://beautifulmindsmagazine.org/

Rogue One: A unique Star Wars film

Last year’s The Force Awakens provided us with a nostalgia-driven reincarnation of traditional Star Wars themes and motifs. In an obvious attempt to mirror the tone and structure of the Original Trilogy (sometimes too obviously), the film gave us a new cast of heroes to root for, a new set of destinies to unfold over the next few years. Once again, we saw the fate of the galaxy placed in the hands of a few swashbuckling heroes.

Rogue One is a very different sort of film. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a better film than last year’s addition to Star Wars canon, but it certainly succeeds in one aspect that The Force Awakens never could: for the first time, we have a truly unique Star Wars story.

When he began the Original Trilogy back in 1977, George Lucas created something incredible. Not only did he spawn a multimedia franchise that has come to infuse itself into the minds of people the world over. Lucas created a self-contained world in the manner of the greatest fantasy stories, a universe in which there is a constant battle between the forces of good and evil. Star Wars isn’t just science fiction: it’s Tolkien in space.

One of the things I’ve always loved about Star Wars is the depth of the world building. Lucas’ original films created a lived-in universe that science fiction had not seen before. In just a few hours of screen times, the films gave the universe depth and history. The audience knew that there were stories behind the stories they witnessed. This is what has allowed for an expanse of comic books and novels spanning thousands of years.

However, the main film series has always been forced (no pun intended) to focus on central themes of good and evil, fate and destiny. The rest of the universe has necessarily been left to the avid fans, those who purposely seek out the world beyond what we see onscreen. In order to make the main canon accessible to casual and serious fans of all ages, the series has been constricted to broad and romantic themes. To focus on anything else within the main story would have changed the nature of Star Wars.

The Original Trilogy revolved around the fate of the entire galaxy, a battle between the forces of good and evil, and an attempt to bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy. It seems that the Sequel Trilogy will be doing the same, dealing with the revival the lost guardians of peace and hope in order to fight an oppressive and cruel regime.

The oft-maligned Prequel Trilogy also dealt with such themes, though it also attempted to expand the world behind the Original Trilogy. One of the reasons these films are so disliked is because they failed to find a balance between capturing the grandiose themes of the Original Trilogy and providing ultimately implausible outer-space society with an element of reality. In its efforts to explain how the Empire came to be, the Prequel Trilogy lost some of the magical spark necessary that tied it into the main canon.

This is where Rogue One comes in. Free from the constraints of the main storyline, Rogue One has a degree of independence – and thus, originality – that no Star Wars film has had. By following characters who are secondary to the grander storyline, the film gives us a chance to see what life under the Empire is like. We see the realities of fighting a rebellion. Rogue One reminds us that the revolution of the Original Trilogy did not happen without sacrifice. Though Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Princess Leia might always walk away unscathed, most members of the Rebellion simply don’t have that luxury. Many are forced to do unspeakable acts, watch their friends and families die in horrific manners. Rogue One gives a previously unseen degree of reality to the Star Wars universe, taking some of the romanticism out of the events of the original films.

The characters of Rogue One are not heroes, not in the same sense that Luke and Leia or Finn and Rey are heroes. These characters are criminals and murderers. They’re the people in the background, the fodder for battles that leading heroes always survive.

Occasionally, Rogue One invokes the grandiosity of the main franchise. The Force, and the morality surrounding it, are intrinsic aspects of the Star Wars universe. The difference in this film is that these elements are secondary to the gritty realities of the universe. Rogue One is, perhaps, the most relatable Star Wars film for this very reason. The characters it involves are not perfect. They aren’t black and white, far from it. These people are conflicted and complex, and they are not always good people. The battles they fight are not fun. War is hell, wherever it is fought. Sometimes, Star Wars might forget this. Rogue One does not.

Rogue One manages to maintain a degree of the levity found in the franchise’s other films. The humour is generally grim but often laugh-out-loud. There are enough throwbacks to let us know that this film exists in the same universe, ending just moments before A New Hope. Secondary characters from the Original Trilogy such as Mon Mothma and Grand Moff Tarkin play central roles. R2-D2 and C-3P0 even make a cameo.

Vader's pun game was on point in this film

Another thing Rogue One does well is its treatment of its antagonists. While Orson Krennic might have been a pretty lame flop of a villain (he basically spends the entire movie whining and getting shot down by his superiors), classics such as Wilhuff Tarkin and Darth Vader are given excellent treatment. Though Peter Cushing (the actor who played Tarkin in 1977) is long dead, his character was brought back to life in beautifully rendered (not to mention controversial) CGI that allowed us a new opportunity to examine one of Star Wars’ most interesting villains.

The real villainous spotlight, however, is Darth Vader. Though the infamous Sith Lord only plays a minor role in the film, his two scenes are among the best we’ve ever seen. In keeping with Rogue One’s themes of realism and shades of grey, Vader’s treatment in this film reminds us exactly why his first appearance in A New Hope had the rebel soldiers shaking in their boots. The new film’s final sequence brutally illustrates that, though he might achieve some degree of redemption a few years onwards, Darth Vader is not, at heart, a tragic anti-hero: he is a cold, cruel, and powerful murderer who will cut down anything in his way.

Rogue One is a film that would not have worked if it had been a part of the main series. The deftness with which it handles the complex realities behind this fantasy universe gives me a new hope for this anthology series (pun very much intended). Rogue One is not perfect. At times, one can see the studio’s invisible hand; there are sections of dialogue that I wish had been rewritten. But in its goal of creating a unique atmosphere and realistic tone, Rogue One is most certainly a success.

A Review of Requiem for the American Dream

I recently watched Noam Chomsky’s Requiem for the American Dream. In true Chomsky fashion, the film dismantles the mechanisms of our capitalist society, illustrating clearly exactly how the current economic system serves to keep the rich rich and the poor poor. Some of the ideas in the film are typical Chomsky, but in a world where inequality is a political buzzword, the film could not be any timelier.

For those who aren’t familiar with his work, Noam Chomsky is often regarded as one of the greatest intellectuals of our time. Originally a linguist, he has written over a hundred books in a broad range of fields including history, politics, and philosophy. Chomsky’s views are not for everyone (he is very much a socialist and an anarchist), but even his critics cannot argue against the fact that he is one of the greatest minds of the twentieth century.

In Requiem for the American Dream, Chomsky illustrates the “10 Principles of Concentration of Wealth and Power,” including rules like “Run the Regulators,” “Attack Solidarity,” and “Manufacture Consent.” It is through these methods, Chomsky argues, that America’s so called “one percenters” maintain their own exclusive place among the economic stratosphere. By running the government and manipulating the masses, big business continually marginalizes the working class. Chomsky illustrates here why the American Dream is truly just that: a dream.

The timing of this film is especially fitting, given the current state of American economics and politics. Inequality is at an all-time high, with even the IMF admitting the failure of neoliberalism, breeding a political climate in which candidates like Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump can ride the wave of frustration on both ends of the political spectrum. The increasing polarization of politics is not limited to the United States (as we can see from events like Brexit, or the increasing popularity of nationalist parties); however, as the capitalist standard bearer and the cultural heart of the western world, this phenomenon is, unsurprisingly, most visible in America.

With all this in mind, Chomsky’s diagnosis seems all the more poignant. For those acquainted with Chomsky’s work (a claim that I can only partially make), the film will seem familiar. It’s the classic critique of capitalism laid out in fairly simplistic terms.

It’s this simplicity that makes the film so effective. If one wants an in depth analysis of the problems with capitalism, one reads in-depth works of economic and political theory by Chomsky and others. A seventy minute documentary makes the arguments appealing to a lay audience for whom it is not necessary to understand the intricacies of microeconomics. Indeed, I’d count myself closer to this audience.

The filmmakers do an excellent job of accompanying Chomsky’s analysis with effective and poignant imagery. Chomsky’s words are interspersed with shots of Wall Street juxtaposed against images of the homeless and countless other representations of economic inequality.

One scene in particular stuck with me long after the film ended. When discussing the principle of “Manufacturing Consent,” Chomsky highlights the engineering of society to prioritize material wealth so as to discourage meaningful thought. Accompanying this analysis, we see a shot of perhaps the most appropriate symbol of consumerism, Walmart, overplayed by the words: “A group of teenagers with a free afternoon will go to the shopping mall rather than the library.”

I found this point in the film particularly haunting. By looking around on any given day, one can see the prominence of rampant consumerism. As a society, we, in general, have prioritized frivolous materialism above all else.

As an example, just look at the recent prominence of Pokémon Go. Sure, many of today’s youth are getting outdoors more than ever before. But what is the point of going outside if we never look up from our phones? A plugged in population is far more likely to consent. By focussing on such, ultimately, trivial things (video games, the newest smartphone, or other material possessions), our attention is taken away from meaningful causes. Consumerism, as Chomsky puts it, has become the measure of a good life.

Requiem for the American Dream is filled with such poignant moments, and I hope it will encourage some people to reflect on their lives and their role in society. I don’t hold myself above anyone – I realize I am just as complicit in the system as all those around me. However, I believe it is important for people to think critically and consider their own role in society, something I continually attempt to do.

The film isn’t perfect. It isn’t ground breaking by any means. It relies highly on rhetoric, and recycles some old criticisms of capitalism. But it is this simplicity that makes it accessible for the average viewer. I would highly recommend that everyone go watch it. The film is only seventy minutes long and available on Netflix, so put it on in the background while you’re doing homework or chores. You never know. It might change your perspective a little.

7/10

Game of Thrones: Mid-Season Update

Now that we’re past episode seven, two thirds of the way through the season, I feel it’s time to give an update on my thoughts about Game of Thrones.

Warning for those who are not up to date, this will contain spoilers for the current season. Read at your own peril.

Overall, I’m fairly happy with this season, but I do have my concerns.

As some may recall, I was wary about the (predictable) decision to revive Jon Snow. Five episodes later, and I’m still not entirely sure what I think. As much as I love Kit Harrington’s interpretation of the character, I can’t help but feel that the writers continue to play it safe. With the exception of the episode immediately following his revival, they have largely glossed over the psychological effects of of the ordeal.

Existentially, the realization that there is no life after death is crushing. Yet, other than his decision to reclaim Winterfell, Jon seems to be plodding on as usual. After he sulkily leaves the Night’s Watch, Sansa’s arrival is the only reason the character is not consigned to oblivion. That said, I love the new interaction between the two half siblings. Both characters have been inalterably changed by their experiences, and the showrunners have done a fairly good job of exploring the dynamic between characters who have largely not interacted onscreen.

You should probably ditch the ponytail, Jon... Your dad could pull it off, but you can't.

The reintroduction of Rickon Stark really frustrated me. Understandably, the writers wanted to motivate Jon to take back Winterfell, but the execution was clumsy. Last time we saw him, back in season three, Osha was taking Rickon to Last Hearth, seat of the Umbers, a family who was fiercely loyal to Robb Stark. The knowledge that Rickon was out there, safe, as a Stark ace in the hole, was comforting knowledge against all the horrors they have had to endure. To reintroduce him as the prisoner of Ramsay Bolton seems like an unnecessary ploy to create tension. Personally, I believe there was enough motivation for Jon to rally the north without adding Rickon as a prisoner.

Speaking of artificial tension, I still can’t get over the ramshackle Dornish storyline.

I didn’t talk about it in my other post due to my word count and the assumption that the story would have farther developments. However, we have now gone six episodes since Ellaria Sand and the Sandsnakes staged a coupe in Dorne and there seems to have been no repercussions. We have seen nothing more of these revolutionaries, and there seems to have been little or no reaction throughout the rest of Westeros. Aside from the actual scene’s clumsy execution, this leaves me wondering… why is Dorne even in the show?

In the books, the Dorne plot was dry but intriguing. One knew this was a possible game changer in Westeros’ larger political conflicts. The show’s adaptation of this storyline? Not so much.

While certainly Game of Thrones has done an excellent job of streamlining other plotlines for the TV format, the excursion into Dorne represents a failure to do this. In A Song of Ice and Fire Doran Martell was a wildcard who’d worked for decades to bring about the fall of the Lannisters. When Arriane Martell and the Sand Snakes (who Ellaria and her daughters are based upon) unwittingly threaten this plan, Doran lets them in on it. At no point is he assassinated: as of right now, he’s alive and well and plotting away.

The Sand Snakes look as dissapointed with the Dorne storyline as I feel

For someone who has not read the books, I imagine this plotline seems pointless. For someone who loves the books, it’s downright frustrating. The showrunners need to find a way to wrap it up, as there has not been adequate set up, nor do they have the time, to do it justice.

The Iron Islands plotline is another one that doesn’t fit smoothly into the show’s narrative progression. Even in the source material, the Kingsmoot seemed to come out of left field. In the show, the reintroduction of Balon Greyjoy in addition to new characters seems out of place. The new dynamic between Yara and Theon is really engaging, and both actors give excellent performances, but the politics of the Iron Islands seem inconsequential on the grand scale of the show. I can’t help but feel like this is going to be another plot tangent that is left ultimately unaddressed.

That being said, the show is doing an excellent job of bringing together certain tangents left wide open in the books. George R.R. Martin has always stated his intention to expand from the relative insularity of the first book, into the middle books’ vast wealth of viewpoints and landscapes, before drawing the threads back together for the final books, giving the series a degree of symmetry.

Despite this, we have largely yet to see this closing of threads in the books, with A Dance with Dragons introducing even more viewpoint characters. The show seems to be moving more actively towards this goal, as can be seen in Sansa and Jon’s attempt to rally the north, Arya’s upcoming return to Westeros, and Danaerys’. One senses that the final act of the saga is about to begin.

Perhaps my biggest disappointment about this season is the apparent spoilers for the upcoming Winds of Winter. As George R.R. Martin originally intended to have ASOIAF’s sixth book out before this season, it divulges certain key plot points, such as the apparent identity of the mysterious Coldhands, the nature of the White Walkers, and the possible confirmation of the R+L=J fan theory. That being said, I am by no means jumping on the anti-George R.R. Martin bandwagon. As I’ve said many times, I’d rather he take six years to write a good book than six months to write a bad one. To quote Neil Gaiman for the umpteenth time, “George R.R. Martin is not your bitch.”

Not only is this one of the show's most badass scenes,
it's one of the most important to the plot

Ultimately, despite its flaws, Game of Thrones remains the best show on television (certainly better than whatever The Walking Dead has become) and one of best page to screen adaptations. The problem with a show this good is that its few flaws, even the minor ones, stand out against such strong writing and performances.

This season has seen some epic and powerful moments, such as young Eddard’s duel at the Tower of Joy and the tragically beautiful “hold the door” scene. The reintroduction of the Blackfish, Benjen Stark, and Sandor Clegane seem to promise great things to come.

I’ll probably write another piece once the season is over, so stay tuned.

As always, thanks for reading J

Still

A review of Captain America: Civil War and my updated thoughts on Spider-Man joining the MCU

A couple of months back, I wrote a post explaining why I didn't think Spider-Man should be included in Captain America: Civil War. Simply put, I didn’t believe that justice could be done by including him as a secondary character in a larger story.

Having seen Civil War, I have been proved wrong.

"Avengers: Civil War"

Titling the film Captain America: Civil War is a little bit of a misnomer. Really it should have been called Avengers: Civil War. But I imagine Disney simply didn’t want to draw attention away from the upcoming Infinity War films. Besides, what would a cinematic portrayal of the Avengers be without Chris Hemsworth’s Thor or Mark Ruffalo’s Hulk?

This is, perhaps, the most mature film to have emerged from this series. Rather than dealing with cosmic entities and alien invasions, Civil War attempts to present a realistic approach to governments dealing with super powered beings. At the same time, the film does not become trapped by the seriousness of this premise. The Marvel Cinematic Universe has always effectively balanced realism, plot, and entertainment without being bogged down in any of them, and Captain America: Civil War is no exception.

The movie has some major plot holes, and in many places one can clearly see characters being guided by the writers’ omnipotent hands. Some of the action scenes are over the top, and I find it hard to believe that Iron Man’s armour only would only begin to show damage when it provides the most dramatic effect. Martin Freeman’s American accent is about as believable Tom Cruise playing a Nazi colonel.

I refuse to take Falcon seriously as a member of the Avengers.

Yet, despite the number of things one could say was wrong with this movie, it does something very right. As with all of the MCU’s films to date, the undeniable problems with Captain America: Civil War are eclipsed by some intangibly endearing quality. Unlike many comic book adaptations that attempt to transcend the genre, Civil War succeeds because it firmly embraces the best aspects of its source material. In its aesthetics, its narrative, and its action, Captain America: Civil War thrives as a comic book movie.

Civil War’s combination of entertainment value, quality casting, and pure heart allows – no, demands – that the viewer simply forget its problems and embrace its better aspects. In its ability to do this while tackling mature and realistic themes, Civil War is arguably the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s best film yet.

Also, there’s an undeniable pleasure to watching our favourite superheroes duke it out.

But what about Spider-Man?

As some of you may recall from my previous post, I was rather skeptical about whether Civil War could do justice to Spider-Man’s MCU introduction. Among so many top notch characters, how could the directors accurately capture the heart of what makes the character so uniquely endearing?

Apparently the Russo brothers understood these concerns, as the film seemed to consciously address them. The choice to cast Tom Holland as a high school Peter Parker, true to the original source material, was an effective method of distinguishing his portrayal from those before him. This Spider-Man’s age is very apparent in his actions and his dialogue. Though his screen time is short, the banter he engages in with other characters is incredibly amusing, one of the film’s most endearing aspects.

The choice to make Spider-Man so distinctly innocent, a kid who’s stumbled into this world of super powers and epic battles, gives him a huge degree of relatability, which has always been Spider-Man’s best quality. As an admirer of the Avengers, just as the viewer is, this Spider-Man finds himself thrust into the middle of battles he is only just beginning to understand, forced to engage in combat with people he admires.

The best depictions of Spider-Man embrace the character’s coming of age story, and I’m willing to say that this seems like no exception. Skipping the origin story did little to hinder his introduction – though I’d like to see the loss of his uncle dealt with in the upcoming standalone film – and Tom Holland provides a unique performance to distinguish him from previous portrayals. Visually and stylistically, the character fits into the tone already establish by the MCU.

I really love the paternal relationship introduced between Peter Parker and Tony Stark. The two actors have some great chemistry, and I think there’s some great potential here. I’d love to see many more “I’ll call Aunt May” jokes.

At the same time, this dynamic lends another layer of thematic significance to the film. As I noted, Spider-Man is young and impressionable, a teenager struggling to come to terms with his new identity. Tony Stark, arguably, takes advantage of this, as Captain America notes during the film when Spider-Man insists that he “has to impress Mr. Stark.” Tony Stark uses the young Parker’s admiration to compel him into a fight where he has no real stakes. This situation poses some questions about the morality of manipulation, an added layer of significance to a film that already questions the extent that one should go to do what is right.

Overall, I was highly impressed with Captain America: Civil War. The film’s ability to handle mature themes without losing entertainment value gives it a rare place among the ranks of comic book movies. Spider-Man’s introduction exceeded my highest expectations, and I’m really looking forward to seeing his follow up movie, as well as that of Black Panther.

Some of the action sequences are predictably over the top, and there are a few big plot holes, yet the film embraces its comic book heritage in a manner that one can’t help but like. Arguably, this is the MCU’s best film yet.

I’ve never liked arbitrary numerical ratings, yet I know that many people do.

8/10

Game of Thrones season six and the fate of THAT character

Well, now I’ve finally caught up… it’s time to talk about Game of Thrones! Warning, this review will contain spoilers for season five of the television show, as well as book five in A Song of Ice and Fire, so if you haven’t gotten there yet, don’t read on! There will also be a section with spoilers for the first two episodes of season six, but I’ll flag it before we get there.

The debate over Jon Snow’s fate has raged for months now, as anyone who has been in contact with social media over the past few months knows. Furious arguments have been made for both sides, with Kit Harrington’s haircut and presence on set being used as supposed proof of his still being alive. Generally, I fell into the “dead is dead” camp, to echo D.B. Weiss’ words in the wake of the tragic onscreen death, despite the fact that I am certain he is alive in the books..

I came to this conclusion after a lot of thought, expending far more mental energy than one ought to expend on a fictional character in a fictional world. I knew the death was coming, yet my initial reaction was certainly one of heartbroken denial (why, Ollie, why???); however, I came to revise that prediction after a little bit of back and forth. While Kit Harrington’s presence on set and his refusal to cut a haircut he purportedly hates are certainly compelling evidence, I simply couldn’t bring myself to believe he was still alive.

Fuck you, Ollie.

 Perhaps this was just the pessimist in me. But with the actor and the show runners insisting so fervently to the contrary, how could the character be alive? With all the anticipation of the season, no manner of bringing Jon back to life could possibly live up to the hype. Furthermore, the show is beginning to branch out farther and farther on its own. This season consists entirely of new material that did not originate with George R.R. Martin’s novels. Showrunners David Benieoff and D.B. Weiss have big shoes to fill on this front. Given the relative certainty of Jon’s return, in one form or another, in the novels, killing him permanently on-screen seemed like the best way to boldly distinguish their adaptation as a unique entity.

I was open to the possibility of my being wrong, but expecting to be proved right. As far as I could tell, this was the smartest direction for the show to take.

Sunday night, we found out the truth…

SPOILERS AHEAD. STOP NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEM!!!!!

Seriously, stop reading.

Now.

Look, I’ll even leave you a massive gap in the page.

What happens from now on is your own doing.

Apparently I was wrong, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Certainly, I leapt for joy like everyone else as Kit Harrington took that frantic gasp and became more than just an on-set cadaver. Yet I had very good reasons for believing he would remain dead, and thought it would be the best thing, artistically, for the show, despite the pain.

I let out an exclamation of joy, just like everyone else.
But was this really a good idea?

To the credit of the writers, they seeded the idea of resurrection as far back as season three with Thoros of Myr’s resurrection of Beric Dondarrion. That Melisandre witnesses this, not to mention continued references to her otherworldly powers, mean that the eventual manner of Jon’s resurrection is not out of place in the show.

My worry is that just because they can do something does not mean they should. On some levels, this decision feels like a bit of a cop out. As I said, Jon’s death would have been an effective way for the show to distinguish itself from the books moving forwards. I think they might have missed an excellent opportunity, and I can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, they simply capitulated to common demand. The show’s writers had an opportunity to include the ultimate red herring while enforcing the brutality of their world.

That said, I do think the manner in which the resurrection was handled was pretty good. I can’t wait to see where they go with Jon, how the process changes him. How will he wrestle back control of the Night’s Watch and fight off the impending march of the White Walkers? People have often complained that Jon is not an interesting character, too close to the archetypal fantasy hero. While I have to agree with this, I have never thought it a bad thing. It is grounding for the viewer to have a character who is intrinsically good in a world with so much ambiguity. Jon’s coming of age story is relatable, and he provides someone we can constantly root for even as Tyrion, Arya, and Daenerys dabble in shades of grey.

Also he has great hair.

Basically, the writer inside me says the showrunners made a mistake while the fanboy inside me is crying tears of joy.

As for the rest of the season, I’m interested to see where Melisandre goes from here. What effects do all these events have on her? If Arya’s storyline stays true to the books, it’s sure to be a fun one. Where will Sansa go from here? Whose head will Robert Strong crush next? Can the writers salvage the Dornish clusterfuck they’ve set in motion?

I’m excited to see where this season goes. Do I think that reviving Jon Snow was the best decision? No. Do I think the writers can pull it off? I hope so. I’ll be sure to share some more of my thoughts as the season progresses, so stay tuned!

As always, thanks for reading J

Macbeth

Last night, I went to the Calgary Shakespeare Company's production of Macbeth at the Vertigo Theatre with my mother. It was fantastic! Opening night, and the acting was polished and well performed. The theatre is small and intimate, with everyone seated only feet from the actors, and the directing was superb. Haysam Kadri is superb as Macbeth, and there are many standout scenes. He really captures the madness of the character. I haven't seen Macbeth live before, but I imagine it will be hard to follow after this.

This is the second production I've seen by the Calgary Shakespeare Company, after I saw Othello a year and a half ago. Macbeth was, if possible, even more impressive. If you're looking for an entertaining way to spend an evening over the next few weeks, tickets are available for shows right through to April 16th. But buy them quickly, because they're selling fast. I promise you won't regret it!

My Problem with Spider-Man joining the Marvel Cinematic Universe

Fair warning, this is one for the nerds (if you hadn’t already gotten that from the title).

When Disney gained the distribution rights to the Spider-Man character last year, I was quite torn about the web-slinger’s impending introduction to the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU). Simply put, I am not excited.

                                     

I don’t claim to be a superhero expert. I’m only loosely familiar with the comic books, and much of my Spider-Man knowledge is based off of the old cartoons. That being said, Spider-Man holds a special place in my heart, as he does with many people, young and old. Seeing the latest trailer for Captain America: Civil War and noting the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I began to think more closely about why exactly I love the character so much.

Spider-Man is, arguably, Marvel Comics’ most successful creation. Since his introduction in 1962, he has entered popular consciousness more than any superhero except for perhaps DC’s Batman and Superman. He’s appeared in countless television shows and cartoons, three separate movie franchises, and innumerable action figures. There’s a Spider-Man ride at the Universal Studios theme park, and the character has appeared as a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Eminem once stated that he was one of his favourite superheroes.

But why is Spider-Man so popular? His powers, while incredibly cool, are not terribly original (strength and agility, flight-like abilities, projectile “weapons”); his costume is striking, yet objectively no more notable than any other colourful comic book heroes such as Iron Man or Wolverine.

Spider-Man’s success comes from the man behind the mask. Peter Parker is the quintessential high school nerd, bullied and lonely, an archetypal character who is incredibly relatable for so many readers. Whereas most other super hero alter-egos (Tony Stark, Bruce Wayne, etc.) are confident – often famous or affluent – adults, Peter is a high school student struggling with all the normal challenges of adolescent life. Spider-Man was one of the first comic books to feature a teenager as the lead hero, which helped it to resonate with the primarily young adult audience. He dealt with real life issues – bullies, relationships, grades – in addition to his crime fighting escapades. Young people could see their own imperfections and insecurities reflected in a lead character who rises above them to become a hero.

In addition to his relatability, Peter’s motivations for becoming Spider-Man are simple yet compelling. When he first acquires his powers, he is largely concerned with using them to make money through wrestling. His reaction is immature, yet it reflects the innocently self-centered knee jerk response many adolescents might have when given the opportunity for quick cash. Likewise, when Peter ignores a fleeing burglar because it wasn’t “his problem,” the seemingly harmless selfishness resonates with the readership. Only when this burglar goes on to murder his Uncle Ben does Peter begin to mature into his abilities, realizing he could have (and should have) stopped the criminal and prevented the senseless death of his uncle. Like so many people as they grow up, Peter comes to realize that his choices have consequences. In this case, his choice not to act resulted in the death of the man he loved most. The effect that the tragic preventability of Ben’s death has on Peter is echoed in the signature line: “with great power, comes great responsibility.” If you can help others in any way, you should. This moral message has been a big part Spider-Man’s popularity, helping him to appeal to so many people for so long.

Which brings me back to my feelings about his joining the MCU. The franchise began in 2008 with the release of Iron Man, and most of the films are currently distributed by Disney. Up until recently, the studio was unable to include Spider-Man in the franchise as Sony held tight to the distribution rights for their own Amazing Spider-Man series. However, a deal made between the two companies last year has given Disney the ability to include the character in their films, hence his appearance in Civil War.

Introducing Spider-Man to an already well established (and quickly wearing out) franchise is a mistake, as it does not give the writers enough to room to flesh out the character’s backstory. Civil War has an ensemble cast that includes almost every major character to have appeared in the franchise up until now. It is simply impossible that Spider-Man will be given a fitting introduction when he is dwarfed by those around him. By throwing him in as an excess character simply because they can, Disney and Sony are sacrificing any chance of properly introducing his backstory and motivations. Consequently, they are sacrificing the richness of the character.

In general, reception to this latest trailer seems to have been strong. People like the decisions that have been made. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take all the Spider-Man I can get. But if there is going to be yet another incarnation of the character, I’d like to see it done right. I wasn’t a fan of Sony’s Amazing Spider-Man movies. As much as I love Andrew Garfield, I don’t think he was right for the role, and the films couldn’t seem to establish what sort of tone they were going for. Yet they at least attempted to include the moral backbone that makes the character so compelling.

A solo Spider-Man film in the MCU is slated for a 2017 release, but the damage will be done by then. The way the character is being introduced represents a blatant money-grab on the part of the studios. Everything about the marketing represents an attempt to get as many people through the box office as possible. I think this is a tragedy, as it compromises the rich appeal of the character.

As always, thanks for reading! Also, I've added an email bar to the side of my website, so if you would like to follow my posts, feel free to add your email address!